by Jace Killan
The tailor allowed Joaquin to dress again in his original clothing that seemed all to plain now. He was not allowed to wear the magic zapatos again. Joaquin followed the tailor into a small room, heavily locked. Inside there were two display cases that the tailor opened holding dozens of watches.
“Please select a watch from each case. It doesn’t matter what you choose, whatever you wish. I will give you a booklet that you will be required to read. It is imperative that you know all about your watches and it would be good for you to learn about other brands as well. If you want to succeed in your endeavor, you should be able to identify any watch you come across and know roughly the retail dollar amount for that watch. Be assured that others will do the same to you, and it is customary to ask questions after exchanging compliments. If you fail to answer, it means that the watch you wear is either counterfeit, or stolen. Either way, you’ll be marked as a fraud.”
Could it really be that serious? Joaquin chuckled at the tailor’s passion. Still he felt like a fraud. Not just because he was technically undercover for the FBI, but also because he doubled as a cartel plant. He had to be three things and he wasn’t sure he actually could do any of them. Still, he’d try.
Joaquin settled on a watch with gold trim and leather band, a Panerai. The second, a Rolex, had a wider face and sat a bit thicker. It had a silver band with matching trim.
“Understand Mr. Maxwell, that if someone were to cut off your left wrist they’d be fifteen thousand dollars richer. You’ll want to remember that when you travel to certain parts of town.”
He received a leather wallet, a black overcoat and a plaid red scarf. He’d be adequately dressed for his first day of work the coming week.
Joaquin’s driver, Junior, had stayed in the car during the four hour session with the tailor. Junior looked of pure muscle, and he didn’t speak much. Definitely the largest Hispanic Joaquin had ever seen.
“Where to now?” Joaquin asked, surprised at feeling tired after doing practically nothing all day.
“Boss wants you to see your apartment.”
They drove for over an hour down block after block of skyscrapers. The landscape, what little he saw, appeared much different from Arizona. No grass, no dirt, no sky. Claustrophobia set in. How would he ever manage, working in such a place, day after day? He breathed deep, searching his growing anxiety.
New York reminded him of prison. The gray walls. No sky. No dirt. No grass. He closed his eyes as he often would in prison and thought about the places he had slept as a youth on scout outings, remembering each area, the sounds, the feels, the memories. He could be there right now, sleeping in the mountains, near a stream that he’d fished that morning. His anxiety dissipated.
Instinctively, he reached for his cigs. They weren’t in his jean pockets.
“Junior, you got a smoke?”
The big Mexican shook his head. “The tailor kept them. He said no more. Smoking isn’t a habit for the wealthy, so you have to stop. Here.” Junior tossed an Altoids canister to Joaquin.
“Stop?” The thought increased his desire ten-fold. “I’ll stop. Just not right now.” He opened the canister withdrawing three mints and chewed on them. It didn’t help.
“Sorry, amigo. That’s how it’s going to be. I’ll get you some Nicorette.”
Joaquin shoved down his mounting rage. It wouldn’t do good to get upset, not here, not now. He’d get cigs some other time.
The car entered a garage, drove down a couple levels and parked. Joaquin got out and followed Junior to the elevator. They rode it to the twelfth floor and exited onto a narrow hallway with cheap carpet. Ansel Adams prints dotted the walls.
Down the hall and on the left, they entered a small studio apartment. A kitchen flanked the side, a queen size bed, took up most of the living area and it faced a large plasma TV. In one corner sat a small desk.
The fridge had been stocked, and according to Junior, would remain that way. Joaquin could write anything he needed or wanted on a bare list hanging on the fridge door by a Pizza Hut magnet with an Arizona phone number. He needed not worry about laundry or cleaning; someone else would attend to those things, which also meant that someone else had continuous access to his apartment along with Junior.
Joaquin sat on the edge of his bed, much softer than what he had slept on in prison. The walls were warm and elegant, not drab and gray, the bathroom fancy and big, not shared with a wingful of inmates. In every way his new arrangements were different, better than prison. So why did he still feel incarcerated?
“Well I get the bed I guess, you can take the couch,” Joaquin said.
“I’m right next door,” Junior said.
Joaquin laughed, thinking Junior continued Joaquin’s joke. Junior didn’t smile.
“Wait. You’re serious?”
“Right next door.”
“Well, okay then. I guess, I’ll shower and...”
“Boss wants me to show you one more place.” Junior went to the window and opened the blinds. Across the street, there was an equally tall building, with glass sides. “Do you see that light on there?” Junior pointed to a light on the eleventh floor, right on the corner.
“Yeah.”
“The office next to it is yours. If you aren’t here, you’re there. If you’re not there, you’re here.”
“What if I want to catch a movie?”
Junior pointed to the television.
“Are you going to come to work with me, too?”
“Not physically. But I will always be watching.” Junior smiled for the first time since they’d met.
“Man, you’ve got a weird sense of humor. Anyone ever tell you that?”
Junior ignored him and went to the desk. He removed a telephone from the top drawer. “This phone is not to leave this drawer unless you are talking on it. There is another in your office desk. They are burner phones and each have a number in the address book named, ‘Mom.’ That is the only number you call and the only number that you answer. Being burners, they will be swapped out sporadically, so the physical number will change, not the protocol, got it?”
Joaquin breathed deep and nodded at his new warden.
28
He hadn’t slept much the night before. Perhaps it was the new bed, or the first day at his new job, or the fact that Joaquin’s handler slept next door. And maybe the three days he’d gone without a cigarette had something to do with it.
He scratched the patch on his arm, feeling refreshed after showering, eating breakfast, and putting on a new patch. Prison though it was, his new digs were much better than where he’d spent the last six years. And his life had purpose now. He had discovered a way to make his dad proud, assuming a hereafter existed and his father could look in on him like he’d learned in church.
In his mind’s eye, Joaquin’s father and brother were his guardian angels, one to his left, the other to his right, supporting him, sustaining his sobriety, and strengthening his resolve to do good with his life. There, Brina popped over once in a while to check in on him. That thought usually made him sad and happy at the same time.
Joaquin cleaned up breakfast, gathered his laptop that he put in a leather satchel and hoisted over his shoulder, then took one final look in the mirror before heading to his first day on the job. He had chosen the pinstriped suit. It looked the best on him and he wore it with a red-striped power tie. Of course, he wore a light brown shoe and belt combination, and his silver banded watch. He looked like a million bucks, dressed in a wardrobe of thousands.
His commute consisted of a brief elevator ride down, a walk across the street and another elevator ride, this one up, ending in the lobby of Northern Investments and Trust.
A cute redhead stood at the side of a wide receptionist desk, shielded by a granite pony-wall.
She smiled and approached Joaquin. “Hi, I’m Kristin.” She wore a sleek black skirt with an off-white blouse.
Joaquin tried not to stare. He preferred brunettes like Brina, to blondes or
redheads. But he found it hard to look away. Perhaps his state-mandated fast from female interaction over the years impeded Joaquin, but he couldn’t find the words to greet this beautiful woman.
She didn’t seem to mind. “Joaquin?”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah. Hum. Yes, that’s me.”
“Good to meet you.”
He accepted her hand, suddenly conscientious of his dry skin and unkempt fingernails. He had developed a nasty habit in prison of chewing his nails. He’d tried to trim them since he’d left, at his mother’s urges, but had unconsciously reverted back to his old ways.
“Let me show you your office.”
He tried not to eyeball her as she led him down a long hallway past darkened rooms. She wore two inch heals that caused her calves to flex as she walked. He followed the legs up to where they became covered by the black skirt that hugged her small butt. He felt instantly guilty for ogling her and forced himself to look up, at the tall ceilings.
“Most won’t be in for another hour or so.”
The hallway took a turn when it hit a large corner office with a full panorama view of his apartment building across the street.
Kristin turned with the hall and settled on a smaller office with the same floor to ceiling windows and view.
A couch sat in the center of the room facing the window. In between the window and couch stood a tall backed leather chair on wheels, his throne to the new castle. There were two identical desks on either side of the chair that sat perpendicular to the window and couch. On one idled a large computer screen, on the other, a yellow pad and pen.
Kristin approached the desk sporting the yellow pad and opened one of its six drawers. “It’s fully stocked, but if you need anything else, just let me know.”
She turned quickly, catching Joaquin in a stare. He tried to shake it off, but her smile told him he hadn’t been successful. He’d have to deal with this distraction soon, before it became a problem. He couldn’t possibly develop a relationship with the receptionist of a firm he infiltrated on behalf of the Sinaloa cartel while undercover for the FBI. That would be ridiculous.
“Thank you, Kristin.”
“Don’t mention it.” But dang she was cute. “The Wi-Fi password is on the yellow pad. Everything prints to the records room down the hall, next to the kitchen. It’s stocked with soda and water and snacks. For us and the clients. Just help yourself.”
“Soda?”
“Pop,” she said.
“No, I understood. Where are you from?”
“Arizona.” She blushed.
“No kidding? I’m from the Phoenix area.”
“I’m from a little farming town called Pima,” she said.
“I know Pima. Well, I’ve driven through it a couple times. I lived, um, near Mt. Graham for a while.” He instantly regretted bringing it up. He was supposed to be a new man and had already made a connection from his new life to his old one. What if she did some digging and found out he was an ex-con. That might jeopardize the operation with Guzman.
“Oh, in Safford?”
“Yeah. Safford.”
He wanted this conversation to end. He wished he could just run away. Or at least go back across the street and go to bed. He swallowed his fear.
“Thank you, Kristin. I think I’m all set.”
She didn’t say anything just nodded. That had been rude of him. One minute they were talking. Maybe she thought they had been flirting. And then in a curt tone he dismissed her like the receptionist. He couldn’t leave it like that. He hurried out of the office to catch her.
“Kristin.”
She turned and raised her eyebrows.
“Thank you.”
She smiled and nodded. “Of course. Anytime.”
Joaquin spent half an hour setting up his Macbook Pro, making sure it connected to Wi-Fi and the large screen through the Apple TV. He also identified his apartment across the street and Junior’s to its side. He imagined the large Mexican watching his every move. He found the burner phone but left it in the desk drawer.
Joaquin started to look around the room for hidden cameras and bugs just when a tall flashy gentleman entered.
“Welcome to the firm. I’m Owen Mayhew.”
Mayhew appeared timid, his handshake weak.
“Joaquin.” He took note of Mayhew’s watch, trying to remember the brand. He’d seen this one before. Too late. “Nice watch.”
“Oh,” Mayhew rotated his wrist. “Not nearly as nice as yours.” He looked around the room and settled on the couch. “I hope this works for you. Feel free to change the layout however you need. And if there’s anything else we can get you, just let Kristin know.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Look, um...” his face grew somber. “Can you let them know that I’m doing my part? I really want this to work out.”
“Okay.” Joaquin tried to imagine what Guzman had on this guy, to make him so rattled. “I’m sure it’ll be alright.”
It was certainly something big. Worse, Mayhew probably thought Joaquin complicit in the blackmail.
Mayhew looked like he was going to cry. He probably wanted assurances that Joaquin couldn’t possibly provide.
“If you need anything, I’m just down the hall.” He stood to leave, raised his hands out as if accepting a gift and said with a forced smile, “Mi casa es su casa.”
29
Jared sensed his wife’s lips against his cheek, kissing again and again, then they dropped to his lips. Small pecks at first that turned into wet kisses. He opened his eyes.
Emma smiled. “You’re staying home today, right?”
“No, babe.” Jared sat up and stretched. His wife settled into his chest. “Owen just let me sleep in because we were moving furniture around late last night to get ready for some new guy.”
“If you stayed home,” her hand slipped gently down his chest to his midsection, “I could give you some attention.”
“Get thee hence temptress.” He pushed her away. She giggled and rolled over. Jared met her smile. “No, really, I better get down there. This guy’s kind of a boss or something. Owen said he had some silent partners that wanted to take a more active role in the business. I should probably do some kissing up.”
Emma raised her head and forced out her bottom lip. She knew that face pulled at his heartstrings.
“You’d better put that lip away or I’ll bite it off.”
With the youngest in preschool, Emma had a boring morning and often expressed the need for adult interaction. Jared had suggested that she go back to school to work on a Master’s degree. She liked the idea but they waited a few months to ensure that his position at Northern was secure. She recently enrolled at the University of Phoenix where she could complete her Masters online over the next couple years. She’d start in a few weeks.
Jared took to showering and getting ready. His mind turned to the tasks of the day. He met Emma again in the kitchen and kissed her forehead. “This weekend I’m taking you to a Broadway Show.” They hadn’t gone in years. Things had been too tight financially to do much entertainment. But since the bankruptcy, and Jared’s new salary, they were much better off.
“I’d like that,” she said and put a hand on his cheek. “Have a good day kissing butt.”
Jared arrived at the office just before noon. He spent a few minutes small talking with Bruce at the building’s entry. Jared had helped Bruce get a job as a security guard. He seemed to be doing well with his past addiction. It was great to see him getting back on his feet. The two had grown to be fast friends.
Stepping out of the elevator, Jared waved at Kristin. “New guy here yet?”
Kristin nodded big, eyes wide and mouthed the words, “He’s cute.”
Jared headed back to his office and laid his briefcase on top of his paper-strewn desk. Most would call it messy, but to Jared it only meant that he had a lot of work to do. A clean desk meant he’d done it all. He could easily find anything in the pile and see every
project needing completion.
Once Emma had taken the liberty to clean his home office. The well-intended act crippled Jared for months, as if he’d lost a piece of himself and didn’t know where to look for it. He didn’t know what he didn’t know. Urgent projects went unattended for weeks.
Jared left his office and headed to the new guy’s room for a cordial welcome. A young Hispanic man peered at his laptop while the large screen behind him showed the CNN website. Jared tapped the heavy glass door.
“Come in,” he said.
“Hi. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m next door.” Jared approached the desk. Maybe in the right setting this guy could pass for mid-twenties, but he really looked like he’d still be in high school.
“I’m Joaquin.”
“Jared Sanderson.”
“Good to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“So what do you do at Northern, Jared?”
“I’m a CFA.” Joaquin nodded though he didn’t seem to know the term. “I’m a financial analyst. I mostly focus on private securities and real estate ventures.”
Joaquin smiled. “Maybe you could teach me some of that.”
“Sure,” Jared said. “I’d be happy to.”
“Well, Jared, I’m hungry and I was just about to go see what’s good to eat around here. Want to come?”
“Sure.”
They exited the building, making small talk. Jared couldn’t get over how young this guy was and assumed he had to be some kind of genius or maybe one of those silent partner’s kids.
He looked of money. Italian made shoes, brand new. A new Caneli suit. And the watch. Mayhew didn’t wear a watch as nice as that. Jared felt underdressed in his Jos. A. Bank collection.
Jared suggested a sandwich shop around the corner, in the bottom floor of a twenty-five-story sky rise. He often ate there and it made for a great place to talk with clients.
A worn metal sign stood at the café’s entrance reading The American Way Market. The inside looked more like a small store than a restaurant, filled with vintage cabinets stuffed with items like granola, honey, canned jams and fruit, and nostalgic merchandise like yo-yos, kaleidoscopes, and balsa wood airplanes.